Saved one fine Thursday morning
by That Kid With the Long Coat
Summary: Dean and Castiel go their seperate ways. Until one dire situation leaving the angel "dead." Fluff at the end, but I think it's sweet... Takes place after season 6. No spoilers besides the finale. Any coincidences were just that - coincidental.


I wrote this so long ago, it's not even funny... This was written...about the day after the Season 6 finale. I was so depressed for Cas, I had to make it right!

Don't own anything, even though I wish I did...at least the trench coat!  
>Rated Teen as a precaution. Nothing major, just swearing and mild violence. Hint of <strong>Destiel<strong> at the end, though it's really not...

Anyways, I felt it was only right to upload it here. So tell me what you think loves, I'd really appreciate it.

Oh, also, I have a new story coming up soon! Basically a sequel-type deal to Dean's Journal. Welp, read and enjoy!

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><p>All seemed peaceful at the moment. Birds chirped, the sun shone brightly, and a gentle breeze blew outside the window.<p>

The irony was sickening.

Dean Winchester had expected complete hell. Lightning to split the sky. Thunder to rock the house. The granddaddy of all storms. No living thing in sight. But everything seemed… normal.

_Somehow that scared him more than anything._

The expression on the hunter's face was impassive, but his eyes betrayed the real fear and worry and guilt that consumed him.

He heard a sigh from behind him, drawing forward another thought.

Sam remembered Hell.

_And it was all Castiel's fault._

It was the angel who had made a deal with the King of Hell—Crowley. It was the angel who had torn down the wall in his brother's mind. And it was Castiel who opened the door to Purgatory and, with the help of those billions of souls, defeated his older brother, Raphael.

Though, as the true power of_ that_ many souls in his body consumed him, the angel had transformed into something… somethingnot _Cas_ and proclaimed himself **God**.

_Angels…_ Dean thought, wiping his mouth habitually.

He _expected_ to hate the angel for what he had done to Sam—_to his family in general_—because it had been easy enough to hate him when Crowley had kidnapped Lisa and Ben. He had even hated the angel after he had saved Lisa from death, but now Dean felt that fire growing cold.

Shaking his head, the older Winchester walked swiftly outside for a long ride in the Impala. There was too much on his mind right now, and even though he knew he would waste a half-tank of gas, he needed to blow some steam. Think things over carefully on the open road.

Dean growled as he revved up his baby. He** really** hated what this whole mess had become…

What_ Cas_ had become…

And even though he would never admit it, he missed his best friend. _His second brother…_

Blue eyes followed the wispy beams of light that appeared around his figure when he happened to concentrate specifically on the millions of souls inside him.

Even though he had been rather stoic and emotionless lately, he still found himself fascinated by the light; the way it moved was if it had a distinct life of its own.

The eyes watched the light until it faded away. Then they closed. They didn't open again until he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Holy Hell…" the voice said, astonished.

The man the eyes belonged to chuckled slightly. The being turned and gazed upon his friend for the first time in too long.

"Hello, Balthazar," he murmured. He braced himself for what would happen next.

Balthazar looked up from his newly resurrected body and into those intense blue eyes gazing back at him. He jumped slightly, and apprehension flooded his features.

"…Castiel."

At his name, Castiel looked down at his shoes for a moment. When he looked back up his eyes betrayed the remorse he couldn't voice. He sighed.

"It's…good to see you, Balthazar."

His friend scoffed.

"The last time you saw me, you** killed** me."

"I know…and—" he took a moment to climb down from his high horse, "—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done so."

Of all of the things he had done over the last few months, he had found reason to believe that what he was doing was for the greater good. It was all to stop Raphael from re-starting the Apocalypse and creating Hell on Earth. Even telling the Winchester's he was the new God was justified—they had doubted him. Disbelieved in him. But he had been right. Everything was justified—except for this one thing. _Killing Balthazar._

And so he had brought the angel back.

But now, as Castiel watched as Balthazar scrutinized him, he now realized that convincing his friend of his genuine remorse would be murderous. The not-angel felt his mouth form a firm line.

Balthazar continued to look him over for several more minutes. After an eternity, his features softened.

"…How many souls have you used up, Cas?" he inquired after a pause.

Castiel shrugged.

"I'm supposed to keep track of every soul?"

The angel ran a hand through his hair before sighing.

"You just seem like more of your old self, Cas. I figured you would be overtaken by the Purgatory souls, but you're not. At least, not as much as I assumed."

(Balthazar hadn't seen him open the door, but Castiel knew that the angel could feel the power radiating from his body. Therefore, no explanation was needed between the two.)

Castiel kept his mouth shut, thinking back to the few moments when he_ had_ been overtaken by the souls. He had told his friends—Dean, _for crying out loud_, his **only **"family"—that he had no none. He told them to bow down or be destroyed… When they had done _**so**_ much for him. They were his friends… his _family_…

"Balthazar, before you go," Castiel said as the angel turned to leave, sensing that he was deep in thought and didn't want to talk anymore.

Balthazar paused, waiting for his friend to continue.

"Watch over the Winchesters."

"And Bobby?"

"And Bobby."

Balthazar nodded and disappeared.

Castiel smiled and gazed at the rising moon from his place on the small wooden bridge. A stream gurgled comfortingly from below. Everything seemed alright in that instant, and he had hope that they would stay that way.

…_If only he knew what he had coming for him…_

"_**Son of a bitch**_, since _when_ do angels _and_** demons** work together?" Dean hollered.

He stood back to back with his brother Sam, who shrugged and answered with a, "How the _Hell_ am I supposed to know?"

Dean felt himself grow hot.

_'Probably _Cas_. I bet we've been a __**real**__ pain in __**his**__ ass.'_

He shook his head. He had to stay focused. There were more important things to think about. _Like how they were going to get out of this mess. _

"You okay, Sammy?"

"You don't have to ask me every five minutes, I'm _fine_," Sam shot back.

"Besides this bunch you mean."

"Dude, shut up."

"Hey, Snappy—"

"**No**, _shut up_ and_ listen_!"

Dean shut up and saw what Sam was listening to.

_The demons of the bunch were silent._

"Don't demons like to **chew your ears off**, or was I _high_ during all those other encounters?"

His brother was silent.

Dean set his jaw.

_This _couldn't _be good…_

Castiel stared off into the sunset, just thinking as the stream lapped below him. He could feel each individual soul now; he had used so many during the passing months. Balthazar said he was almost back to his old self. _Almost_, but not entirely.

Though, despite the other angel's encouraging, Castiel couldn't bring himself to face the Winchesters.

_"Dean misses you," _Balthazar had said.

But Cas found that hard to believe. Especially after what he had done to Sam. _And after Dean had lost Lisa and Ben…_

Suddenly, Cas felt that he was no longer alone on the bridge. He turned and saw Balthazar, looking numb.

"Cas… the boys…"

That was all he needed to hear before Castiel was_ gone_.

When he arrived, Cas saw a mixture of angels and demons rushing around the decrepit, concrete substructure. He strained to find his boys, but to no avail. He felt a faint trace of a familiar emotion—panic.

He _had_ to find them.

Blue eyes flicked over the writhing bodies, looking for _any_ sign of Dean and Sam. There weren't many of them—only about thirteen, give or take—but at least half were angels. And those bastards were a pain in the ass to kill, he knew from _too_ much experience. He was just starting to work up a good dread when he heard it.

"_Son of a bitch!_"

Cas smiled in spite of himself.

Shortly after, he got a glimpse of Dean's old beat up jacket and a flash as the demon-killing knife caught the light through the gloom.

He sighed in relief. Dean was still alive and kicking. _'Now to find Sam.'_

Castiel soon found that finding Dean's brother in a crowded, dark crypt wasn't going to be as easy as finding Dean. He wasn't experienced enough to know what to look for, or which shadow could belong to Sam. He was too used to finding just one Winchester—the two were nearly connected at the hip, so there was only the need to find his former charge.

He sighed and made a silent resolve to pay more attention to the younger Winchester, not just Dean.

"Castiel?"

Cas jumped and spun around to meet the hazel gaze of Sam Winchester. Clutched in his fist was an archangel's blade.

"Hello, Sam," he said, taking a half-step back.

Normally the blade wouldn't have bothered him, but in the hands of Sam, who had already tried to kill him_ once_, and now with most of his souls gone, Cas didn't know how much it would take to seriously hurt him. _Or worse._

The Winchester looked him over warily, making the "angel" sigh.

"I had nothing to do with this."

"You mean **this** time."

Castiel looked away.

"Sam I know you don't trust me—"

"An understatement."

"—But I am here to—_Look out_!"

Sam didn't have time to react. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, staring up at Cas. He seemed fine.

But then he saw the **blood**.

And the_ light_.

When the darkness of the cellar flooded back, Sam caught the shadow of Castiel draw an archangel's blade from his back. As Sam's eyes re-adjusted to the black, he noticed that the blade had pierced the angel's kidney. A blow like that would be lethal to a human. Sam was just starting to absorb the fact that the angel had just saved his life when Castiel hissed and swung the blade in a wide arch, decapitating the angel who had stabbed him in what seemed like fury.

Sam jumped to his feet, his eyes flicking between the dead angel and Cas nervously.

The latter wiped his mouth—in a way that immediately reminded him of his brother, Dean—and grumbled to himself briefly.

"You alright, Sam?" the angel asked after a while, his eyes filled with genuine concern.

Castiel frowned. There was only a fraction of the souls left now—and they wouldn't last very long. He had to grab the boys and run _fast_.

When Sam nodded, the angel sighed and began forcing his way towards Dean.

"Let's help your brother then," he huffed.

The younger Winchester nodded again and followed Cas diligently in his brother's direction. On the way there, they managed to take out three angels and two demons. Castiel looked back every three steps to make sure Sam wasn't having too much trouble and that he wasn't too far behind. The fact that Dean would _kill_ him if he found out that **anything** had happened to his brother while in Cas's presence was front and center in his mind.

But they managed to get to Dean without any major incident before the elder hunter was too overwhelmed. And according to Cas's observations, there were only two angels and five demons left to kill anyways.

By now, Dean sported a black eye, several bruises, cuts, and a giant tear in his jeans. Then again, Sam wasn't much better.

It took Dean a few minutes to realize he was no longer fighting on his own, but when he did, he said nothing but, "What are **you **doing here?"

What really scared Castiel was how calm Dean's voice sounded, and how quiet it was despite his ragged breathing. An obvious sign of fury.

Cas swallowed, but didn't let his worry show on his face.

"Well," he started, thrusting his blade through the throat of a hostile angel, "I decided being God isn't all it's 'cracked up to be.' You wouldn't believe how much you humans complain." He chuckled grimly at his little joke. "And I can't let you two get yourselves killed."

Dean growled. "You haven't had a problem trying to kill us before."

"Behind you," Cas replied simply, making the elder Winchester turn in time to stop a demon from snapping his neck.

Castiel wiped his mouth for the second time—one of the many habits he had picked up from Dean Winchester. He remembered a lot of things from the past year or so, but attempting to kill the Winchesters was not one of them. …Or was it?

"What all have I done?" he asked, rubbing his temple.

Dean was currently intent on aiming a few right hooks into a demon's jaw.

"A better question would be, 'What haven't you done,' Cas," he spat as the demon collapsed.

When he received no reply, the Winchester turned towards the angel. He opened his mouth to demand an answer, but the expression he saw made him say something totally different.

His tone soft and concerned, he asked, "Cas, you okay?"

Castiel didn't budge at first. He had a faraway look in his wide eyes, and his pupils rapidly dilated and contracted, as if they couldn't focus.

This time Dean left the fighting purely to Sam as his hand clasped Cas's shoulder.

"Cas?"

Castiel blinked a couple of times before shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. His brow was deeply furrowed.

Dean caught Sam's eye. They exchanged worried glances.

His breath came in shallow bursts that he tried desperately to control. All he accomplished was a quick intake of breath and a slow, shuddering exhale. Several images flashed before his eyes, but he could not bring himself to believe them. He agreed with Dean.

_What _hadn't_ he done to the Winchesters?_

He shook his head in disbelief. He couldn't have done those things. _But there they were_, stored in his memory.

The angel felt himself start to tremble and before he opened his eyes, he wondered if this was how Sam had felt when the wall had broken down in his mind, unleashing the Hell he had lived through. Blue eyes searched the Winchesters, looking for any indication that all he remembered were false memories. He found _**none**_.

Only anxious faces.

Inside, he felt the remaining souls tearing him apart, trying to escape. He could even hear his own soul screaming from within.

_Funny_, he thought foggily, _I didn't think angels had souls…_

Vaguely, he realized he was dying.

He felt himself fade away as the world went from fuzzy, to gray, to black.

…

"_I'm sorry…"_

Dean immediately shot into action.

"Cas—_Cas_!" he yelled as the angel collapsed.

Before he hit the ground, a brilliant white light engulfed them, and Dean had to shield his eyes with his arm.

When the light disappeared, the demons and remaining angel were gone.

Cas was in a crumpled heap on the ground, eyes closed. Dean knelt next to him, a feeling of despair growing oppressive.

"Cas? **Dammit**, _c'mon_!"

He looked up to see his brother gazing at the angel with concern.

Suddenly, Cas gasped and opened his eyes. Then he sat up.

Sam sighed in relief. "You okay, Cas?"

But Dean felt deflated. His shoulders drooped and he could feel disappointment flood through him.

_This wasn't Cas._

Blue eyes gazed at Dean and Sam warily.

"I'm not Cas…I'm Jimmy…" he whimpered.

"_I'm Jimmy…"_

"So, Cas showed up to help you boys?"

Sam nodded grimly.

Bobby Singer sighed and glanced at Jimmy's sleeping figure curled up on the couch—he had abandoned his trench coat shortly after they had arrived after Dean unintentionally had a heated word with him about it—before gazing at Dean, who was staring out the window, whiskey in hand.

"And you think he's dead?"

Sam paused for a moment.

"…Yeah. Bobby, you should have seen the look on his face. It was like he didn't remember what he's tried to do to us at first, but when he did…" he trailed off.

"It killed him," Bobby finished.

"Yeah."

Across the room, Jimmy stirred. Sam's head jerked to watch, but when the (former) angel vessel failed to open his eyes, the younger Winchester lost interest. Dean didn't even blink.

Bobby readjusted his trucker cap before he stood and made his way to the kitchen.

He _really_ needed a **beer**.

It was just after 2 AM and Dean was on watch. His recently omnipresent whiskey bottle was nearly empty and he felt himself frown.

He didn't like drowning himself in alcohol, but with one out of the three people he loved and trusted enough to consider family dead, and with Sammy having terrifying nightmares… he didn't think he could handle it all sober.

Besides, it wasn't like he was flat out drunk anyways.

His thoughts were cut short when he heard a small rustle from behind him.

Turning away from the large living room window, he met the eyes of Jimmy, Castiel's vessel. _Or _former_ vessel_, he thought, his "good" mood diminishing further. Dean sighed and turned back to the window.

"Finally conscious, Jimmy?"

"Shut up, Dean."

The Winchester chuckled harshly.

"So you remember me, huh?"

Jimmy scoffed.

"How could I _**not**_ remember the jackass that almost got me and my family killed?"

Normally Dean would have dismissed the comment and laughed at the hostility Jimmy tried to infuse into his words.

_But not this time._

"Look Jimmy, we told you not to go back to your family. We told you the demons would be looking for you. Were we right? Yes. And what happened?" He paused for a moment, then took Jimmy's silence as a chance to grill him further. "Right, Jimmy! Your wife was possessed and the demon threatened to kill her and your daughter. And then it was your** idiocy** that **would** have gotten us all killed if_ Cas _hadn't shown up, _**Asshat**_!" he spat.

Jimmy scowled.

"…So what am I doing here? Where's Castiel?" he rushed, trying to change the subject.

Dean was silent for a long while. _Cas is dead_, was the reply that came to mind, but the hunter knew that comment would raise questions he just couldn't answer. If Cas had died when he learned what he had done over the past year, what would happen to Jimmy?

"We don't know…" he finally replied.

Jimmy seemed satisfied with that and stood up. He stretched and paced towards the kitchen.

"Got anything good to eat?"

The following months were hardest on Dean; you could see it in his eyes.

Every time Jimmy unintentionally snuck up on him, you would see a flash of hope in his eyes, but when he realized his mistake—that this was** not** _Cas_, and his best friend was _still_ dead—his face** immediately** fell and the light died out.

He would try and smile when Jimmy talked about nothing, just to try and get Dean to warm up to him, but the hunter just couldn't. He couldn't stand to look into those blue eyes because all he saw was his best friend. There were only minor differences.

But it was the differences that made it worse. They drove him crazy, because they stuck right out to him—Jimmy's voice was too high and mildly childish, unlike Cas's slightly lower, gravelly tone; his eyes didn't have that same glow they did before; not even their _expressions_ were the same, and the way Jimmy carried himself was relaxed and slightly self-conscious; Cas carried himself boldly and a tad rigid, but **always** humbly; he was _**never**_ self-righteous in his stride; and while Cas had a soft, half-smile that Dean had come to love, simply because it was so rare for the angel to show anything like amusement, or even affection like that, and he saw no need for trivialities like fake smiles unlike Jimmy, who had a wide grin and was quick to use it when he thought that's what someone expected; In short, Castiel was _genuine_; _Jimmy was only human_—meaning he_** couldn't**_ just pretend this was Cas.

_No._

_Every time_ he saw Jimmy, he had to accept the fact that Cas was **gone** _all__** over**_ _**again**_. And that _hurt_.

But, overtime, he got a little better, and tried a little harder to get along with Jimmy, for everybody's sanity.

One day, though, Dean snapped.

_"You don't remember anything?" _

Jimmy had shaken his head solemnly.

_"No. …I'm sorry Dean…"_

Dean had stormed out of the room. He knew it wasn't Jimmy's fault, but he needed to vent on _someone_.

But then again… wasn't that what liquor was for?

_A Few Months Later…_

Dean happened to be alone with Jimmy that day. Sam and Bobby had left early that morning to check out a case in Wyoming. Dean didn't mind much anymore—he was getting better at dealing with Jimmy on his own now. He thanked God for it too; otherwise he didn't know what he'd have done.

As he waited for his morning coffee to brew, he found himself talking aimlessly to Cas—a surprising habit he had adopted about a month after Jimmy had woken up. He wasn't the praying type to begin with, but for some reason just talking to his friend calmed him down a bit and prepared him for the day.

_'As I said a _million_ times, Cas, I don't know where angels go when they die, but _wherever _you are, I hope you're having a blast. I don't care what you've done… I know it wasn't your fault, and… I just want you _**back**_, man…' _he thought, knowing it was useless. Cas was gone. And he wasn't coming back.

He had lost all hope by now that maybe God would have had the heart to resurrect the angel, but it had been a little over half a year now and nothing happened…

_Creak. _

Dean stopped pouring his coffee long enough for him to discern the footsteps as Jimmy's. He managed to grab a mug just as he heard the footsteps pad softly down the old staircase.

"Mornin' Jimmy. Want your usual coffee?" he asked, trying to be pleasant.

The footsteps entered the kitchen and paused. Dean assumed Jimmy was just tired and scratched the back of his neck. He yawned and turned, gesturing towards Jimmy with the mug.

"Hey, coffee? If you don't answer, I'm not pouring you any, 'cause I don't wanna waste it," he threatened, a little more good naturedly. Jimmy looked himself over, starting at his feet and working his way up. Dean observed Jimmy was barefoot, with light blue plaid pants, and an old navy blue t-shirt. His hair was rumpled from sleep. But, Dean noticed with a jolt, he didn't have his usual tired, 'just rolled out of bed' look normal people got this early in the morning. Even though every aspect of him was bedraggled, he looked oddly…_neat_.

"Jimmy?"

Jimmy blinked once, then looked Dean square in the eye complaisantly.

"No thank you, Dean. I don't care for coffee. It's too bitter for my liking," he replied, his voice low and husky.

Dean's eyes widened and he knew. Within an instant he had crossed the space between them and pulled his friend into a firm embrace around his shoulders.

"Hey, Cas…" he said weakly.

He felt the angel stiffen at first, then relax. He returned the embrace tenderly.

"Hello Dean."

Dean closed his eyes. The last time he had been this happy to see someone was when Sam had come back from Hell. But this might have even beat that, because this time his relief was returned—unlike Sam, who had been soulless when he had reunited with Dean, and really couldn't have cared less.

"How are you even alive?" he asked, still not grasping on to the fact that after all this time, he had his angel back.

Castiel smiled.

"I was never dead," he replied. "Close. But not completely."

Dean rested his chin on his shoulder and he felt **elated **that the hunter wasn't trying to _kill_ him right now.

"Then why—"

"As I said, I was so close to death, I collapsed within Jimmy until now. But I wasn't dead, Dean, I assure you. I'll never leave you like that. _Not after what I did…_"

Dean nodded, touched by what the angel had said.

They stood there for a few more moments before Dean _had_ to know something.

"Did you hear my prayers?"

"Every word, Dean."

Then, silence.

It was like that for a few minutes. The only sound was the sound of their breathing, perfectly in sync. Then, Dean pulled away. Castiel stood there serenely, a faint smile curling his lips. Dean smiled back and reached out to smack the angel's shoulder in an attempt to end the chick flick moment.

"Good to have you back, man."

"It's good to be back, Dean." He paused. "Listen… I've wanted to apologize… for everything…"

Dean waved his hand in front of him, signaling for Cas to stop.

"No, Cas, you don't have to."

The angel looked up from his bare feet and offered a grateful half-smile. He loved it when Dean was like this. In some strange way, even though Castiel was thousands of years old, Dean was like an older brother to him. Hell, he was more of a brother than his _true_ brothers, the angels.

But he didn't have to think about them at the moment. He had Dean, and **maybe** even Sam and Bobby, _wherever they were_. Besides, he now had Balthazar as well, and that was enough to keep him happy.

Dean tilted his head as he saw the angel's smile widen slightly. _Wonder what's gotten into him…_ he thought, before he decided that he was sick of standing in the kitchen in dead silence, just staring at his friend.

"Alright, well go brush your hair. And _change_. Seeing you without your trench coat is… **weird**," he said, ruffling Cas's hair.

The angel's bright blue eyes sparkled as he nodded and turned around. Dean had just gotten back to his coffee when he heard Cas pause. A small _"Huh,"_ came from his direction. The hunter turned to see Cas gazing at him, as if he had just realized something.

Dean didn't have to wait too long to find out what that something was.

Blue eyes trailed from the linoleum floor to Dean's green eyes slowly. "Today's Thursday," the angel said in wonder.

It took Dean a moment before he realized why Cas was in awe. Then he remembered. _Castiel: Angel of Thursday, _he mused. The whole reality of it was sublime. He caught the angel's eye and they both shared a grin before Castiel went to retrieve his trench coat. He missed it….

**End**


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